


A Dream Aloud

by bardroyisms



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Arguing, F/M, Gun Violence, Love Confessions, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27845754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bardroyisms/pseuds/bardroyisms
Summary: Meyrin makes a risky move during a combat situation, which leads to an argument with Bard and an unexpected confession.
Relationships: Baldroy/Mey-Rin (Kuroshitsuji)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	A Dream Aloud

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song Sweet Disposition by The Temper Trap, mostly because I was listening to it while writing. Special thanks to vaderfanatic for being so supportive lately and helping me out with figuring out some parts of this fic :)
> 
> This is a oneshot - BUT if you want to interpret it as a continuation of the last one, then please feel free!

The deafening sound of gunshots rang out across the grounds of the Phantomhive manor, closely followed by the agonised screams of some unfortunate intruders. As the man crumpled to the ground clutching his now bloodied leg, Bard almost winced at the sight, though he showed no signs of hesitation as he reloaded the rifle clutched in his unwavering hands, positioned up on one of the manor’s stone turrets.

“Damn, that’s gotta hurt,” he mumbled to himself, though it was more of a casual observation than an expression of guilt. Not that he didn’t feel any guilt, but at least now he was truly fighting to protect something important to him. Plus, he was hardly going to feel bad for shooting someone who was plotting to kill a thirteen-year-old boy, now was he? “Oi, you’d better get that checked out if you don’t wanna die,” he called out; not that he particularly cared either way. The bleeding man didn’t seem to react to the chef’s words, though he did begin dragging himself in the opposite direction, groaning in pain with each movement. Bard figured there was no reason to shoot him again – by the looks of it, he was going to bleed out anyway, or at the very least he wasn’t going to be stupid enough to attempt attacking the manor again.

Having reloaded, Bard returned his attention to the other members of the group who were after the young master. Little did they know that the boy and his uncannily perfect butler were away on business, so they were attacking an empty manor. You’d think these people would do some more research on the young master’s whereabouts before making a futile attempt on his life, but apparently not. It was laughable, really. The chef’s eyes narrowed in concentration as he aimed the rifle, firing and successfully hitting two more of the attackers, one in the shoulder, the other in the chest. Even though he had no difficulty with his aim, Bard noticed with unease that this was a bigger group than the servants were used to, and at this point they were practically surrounded. Having cleared his area for now, he turned his attention towards the other servants. Finny was laughing gleefully and tossing large logs in the direction of the now very confused attackers, his grass green eyes unnervingly bright and wild. Still, he seemed to be holding his own well enough for the moment. Bard then looked over to the other side of the roof, where Meyrin was crouching and shooting with her usual near perfect precision, her sharp eyes fixed on the ground below and her deep red hair flowing delicately in the light breeze. Had the situation been different, Bard would have taken a moment to stop and appreciate the sight. The maid was undeniably beautiful, but more than that, there was a strength within her that Bard couldn’t help but admire.

As much as he knew Meyrin was more than capable of defending herself, the chef couldn’t help but feel protective over her somehow. It wasn’t that he doubted her combat abilities, far from it. He had seen her in action enough to know she didn’t _need_ protecting. Deep down, Bard knew damn well where this protectiveness came from. He had tried his hardest to push it all down, to keep it buried at the back of his mind, but even that didn’t ease the way his chest ached every time he looked at her. The truth was inescapable. Bard had developed feelings for – no, he was _hopelessly_ in love with Meyrin. Although he had been harbouring these feelings for a while now, he felt there was no use in telling her. A girl like her deserved much better than him, scarred and haunted by the war and incapable of cooking even the simplest dish without setting the kitchen ablaze. Despite her troubled past, the maid radiated such a hopeful light, and Bard was sure he could never hope to match it. Although he was much happier these days than he had been when he first arrived at the manor, such bright-eyed optimism had left him long ago. So, he had resigned himself to admiring her from afar, keeping his feelings at bay and simply being there for her as a friend. Bard knew these feelings would likely never fade, but as long as he was close to Mey in some way, that was fine.

So when he suddenly lost sight of her, panic shot through the ex-soldier’s veins. Surely she hadn’t been hit...? Then, searching down below, he realised she had run down to crouch behind the bushes to aim for another group of men who were making their way towards Finny, who was becoming increasingly outnumbered. In doing this, though, she had left herself open to several more enemies advancing on the side. Being on the ground now, it would be much easier for them to aim at Meyrin if they spotted her. _Shit_ , Bard thought. _We’re not used to there being so many of ‘em..._

“The hell are you doin’, Meyrin? Get back to the roof!” Bard yelled, his concern evident in his gruff voice. Shooting him a questioning glance, Meyrin briefly shook her head as she fired a few more shots which successfully hit their targets in the chest.

“I’m fine here,” she called back to him, ducking behind a bush to dodge a few shots that were far too close for Bard’s liking. He took another moment to assess the situation. From the looks of things, he could probably get rid of a few of the guys approaching Finny from where he was; his long distance shooting may not have been as precise as Meyrin’s, but it was good enough.

“I’ll take these guys out – you’re too exposed here!” Finny seemed to be just about managing to keep out of reach, rushing behind trees every now and again when he needed to in between throwing the logs. It would be difficult to fend off all of these men, but it was doable. Damn it, Meyrin needed to focus on protecting _herself_ rather than the gardener right now. But Bard also knew that the maid could be stubborn as hell when she wanted to be.

“I said I’m _fine_ , Bard!” she snapped back as she darted out from behind the bush to fire some more shots, then crouching down away from the inevitable retaliating flurry of bullets. _Maybe she’ll be fine,_ Bard thought to himself... but then he noticed Meyrin seemed to be frozen in place. That wasn’t like her at all, and there was no way it was out of fear. Then the realisation hit him.

She was out of bullets. And being on the ground, the multiple guns she kept nearby to save on reloading time were now well out of her reach.

Bard didn’t even have to think about what he did next. Rifle still clasped tightly in his hand, he jumped over the side of the turret and onto the roof, landing less than comfortably with a grunt. Having drawn attention to himself, he ducked to avoid a rather poorly aimed bullet before scrambling along the roof as quickly as his limbs would carry him to where Meyrin’s guns were lying. He was nearly there when a bullet flew past his ear, the sound gut-wrenchingly familiar. There was no time to sit and lament the past right now, though; all that mattered was helping his friend. Finally making it, Bard lay with his stomach against the cold tiles to stay out of the line of fire as best he could, then grabbed two of the fully loaded pistols and peered over the edge of the roof to find Meyrin. To his relief, she was still uninjured and crouched in the same spot.

“Mey, heads up!” Bard called out as he tossed the weapons over the side of the building, aiming for the maid to catch them. Immediately reacting to the sound of his voice, Meyrin glanced up at him with a nod as she swiftly caught the pistols. Then, leaping to her feet and twirling around almost effortlessly, she re-joined the fight. Bard decided to stay where he was and pointed his rifle over the edge of the roof, using the tiles as leverage while he aimed at the assailants who had been creeping their way closer to the maid. The red-head flashed him a brief smile of thanks before returning to Finny’s aid, and she moved with such grace that even in the heat of battle, Bard felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight. Still, that had been too damn close, and there was no way he wasn’t going to bring it up once this was over with.

Once it was finally clear they had taken out the entire group, Bard stood up, brushed off his jacket, and stormed his way down to the garden. Glancing over her shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow, Meyrin seemed as if she was about to say something - but for once, Bard wasn’t listening. “What the _bloody hell_ was that all about?!” Bard snapped as he briskly walked over to her, brows furrowed in frustration. Startled, Meyrin took a step back and frowned at the taller man.

“And what exactly is that s’posed to mean?” Bard stopped a few paces away from her, hands on his hips and blue eyes burning with something akin to anger, but not quite so simple.

“You know damn well what I mean. You coulda gotten yourself killed with that little stunt of yours!” He was vaguely aware that his voice was still raised, but he couldn’t help it. Bard had never been the best at expressing his emotions, but the thought of losing Meyrin had left him _frantic_ with worry, and he didn’t know how else to express the sentiment without outright saying it. Of course, it had the complete opposite effect, and Meyrin folded her arms across her chest as she glared up at her fellow servant.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Bard, gettin’ killed’s always a possibility in our line of work,” she retorted, and Bard felt his jaw clench.

“That doesn’t mean you’ve gotta be an idiot about it!” he shouted, and instantly regretted his choice of words. The maid’s golden brown eyes widened for a split second before she returned to defiantly glaring back at him, a display which pained Bard more than it should have.

“Wow. That really how you see me, huh?” she replied bitterly, a twinge of hurt in her voice. Fuck, the last thing Bard had ever wanted to do was hurt her, yet here he was, messing things up as usual.

“That’s not what I-” he took a step forward as he spoke, but Meyrin stepped back, clearly not interested in hearing what she assumed were just excuses.

“After all we’ve been through, you seriously just see me as some stupid little damsel in distress?” Little did she know how far from the truth that was. Letting his arms fall to his sides and sighing, Bard took a moment (and a deep breath) to collect himself before responding, his voice a little softer this time.

“You’ve got it all wrong. If you only knew the way I see you...” he trailed off, but Meyrin, missing Bard’s meaning entirely, was not deterred. Frankly, all this did was confuse and irritate her further.

“How, Bard? _How_ exactly do you see me?!”

What came tumbling out of Bard’s mouth next surprised even him.

“Goddammit, Mey, I _love you_!”

Silence fell across the garden. For a few long moments, the only sound that could be heard was the delicate rustling of leaves in the cool breeze. Bard almost stopped breathing when the magnitude of what he had just blurted out truly sank in, and cold anxiety constricted his chest like a vice. That was it. He had truly messed this whole thing up, demolished years of friendship with just a few words. There was no way this wouldn’t change things between them, and Bard’s heart sank at the thought. The lack of response from Meyrin only served to heighten his anxiety; she stood there, eyes wide with shock, lips parted as if she had been about to speak, but his words had left her frozen in place. Even worse, Bard found he couldn’t read her expression – was it a disgusted kind of shock? Was she repulsed that a man like him saw her in such a way? He wouldn’t have blamed her if that were the case.

He had no way of knowing that Meyrin was not disgusted with him at all; quite the opposite. If she was being honest, the maid had no idea how she felt right now. Her thoughts were racing, and she could not ignore the way her heart was pounding. She was close to Bard, of course – he was her dearest friend, and although Meyrin had noticed a certain warmth blooming in her chest whenever the blond flashed her a grin or gave her a kind word, she had never once considered that he might have feelings for her that surpassed friendship. Her complete lack of experience fully dawned on her here – how were you meant to respond to something like this?

“Bard, I... what...?” Meyrin started to speak, but the words refused to come out the way she wanted them to. Bard sighed and glanced away, unable to look her in the eyes. _Shit_. Out of all of the chef’s blunders (and there had been many), this had to be the worst by _far._

“Mey, I... look, I’m- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve...” he stammered, still refusing to look at her properly and awkwardly scratching at the back of his head. He couldn’t exactly backpedal and claim he didn’t mean it, because it just wasn’t true. But what _could_ he say? In the end, he decided to just excuse himself and run from the situation. “Sorry, I’d better go,” Bard mumbled.

“Wait,” Meyrin tried to call out, though her voice came out as little more than a whisper. Before she could say anything else, Bard had rushed off, probably in the direction of the kitchen. Part of her wanted to follow him, but... Meyrin’s feet refused to move. She stood there in silence, eyes still wide in disbelief. If Bard had stuck around for just a moment longer and forced himself to look at her, he would have noticed the way her face grew warm.

Later that evening, Bard didn’t sit with the other servants at dinner like he usually did. Instead, he grabbed an apple from the kitchen and went to snack on it in the empty room he shared with Finny, making no eye contact with anybody. He just couldn’t bring himself to face Meyrin; not now, it would be too awkward. Plus, he wasn’t really hungry. In fact, he didn’t speak to anybody until it was time for he and Finny to get ready for bed; it was hard not to notice those kind green eyes peering at him in concern.

“You okay, Bard?” Finny asked as he finished changing into his pyjamas and sat on his bed. “I heard you and Meyrin arguin’ before, so...” Bard froze for a moment. God, of course Finny had heard them – he was the gardener for Christ’s sake, and they had been shouting at each other in the middle of the bloody garden. Not exactly discreet. Bard sighed as he climbed into bed, glancing over at Finny.

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it,” he assured him. Just as he was about to turn over and face away from the younger boy to try and sleep, Bard paused. “You, er... did you hear what we were talkin’ about, or...?” Finny shook his head.

“No, none of it.” Bard smiled a little to himself. The boy wasn’t a particularly good liar, but he couldn’t help but appreciate the effort.

As expected, sleep didn’t seem to want to come to Bard that night. Finny had fallen fast asleep hours ago, and Bard lay on his back staring blankly up at the ceiling, arms crossed underneath his messy blond head. He kept turning the events of the day over in his head, that familiar anxiety creeping back and making his stomach churn. He couldn’t keep avoiding her forever – he would _have_ to face Meyrin again at some point, but what was he meant to say? Should he try to explain? Or would it be better to just pretend like it never happened? Maybe she wouldn’t even be interested in being his friend any more, and they would just go back to being acquaintances. The thought of losing the closeness they had felt like an icy pang in Bard’s chest.

The chef’s thoughts were interrupted by a small rustling sound coming from the other side of the room. Blinking in confusion and sitting upright, Bard’s hand inched towards the pistol he kept under his pillow as he glanced around the room, looking for the source of the noise. Squinting in the darkness of the room, he was just about able to make out what looked like a small scrap of paper, which seemed to have been slipped underneath the bedroom door. Bard stared at it for a moment before deciding the gun wasn’t needed, and climbed out of bed to go over and investigate. He crouched down to pick up the paper, briefly examining it before his heart practically leapt out of his chest as he instantly recognised the handwriting.

_Bard_

_Please come to my room_

_M_

Swallowing nervously, Bard read and re-read the little note several times. He couldn’t tell from this whether Meyrin was about to confront him and end their friendship entirely, or... well, what else could she have in mind? After all, there was no way a girl like her could possibly be interested in Bard, not like _that_. Taking a few more moments to crouch there and let his mind race, Bard finally rose to his feet and lit a cigarette – he sure as hell needed one right now. Taking a long drag from it, he finally collected his thoughts and made his way towards the maid’s room, making sure to close the door quietly behind him so that he wouldn’t wake Finny. Walking slower than usual, the floor cool against his bare feet, Bard knew he was deliberately delaying the inevitable, but he couldn’t turn back. This needed to be sorted out, and better to do it now when nobody else was around. Finally arriving at her bedroom, he hesitated, taking another long drag on his cigarette to try and calm his nerves. It didn’t work, but all the same, he forced himself to lightly knock on the door.

For a moment there was silence, and all Bard could hear was his nervous breathing. Then the door opened, and Meyrin looked at him for a moment with what appeared to be an equally nervous expression on her face as she stepped back to let him in. Bard said nothing as he walked inside and shut the door behind him, anxiously running a hand through his hair and looking everywhere but at Meyrin. The red-haired girl quickly caught on to this, and frowned a little.

“Bard, look at me.” She spoke softly, and Bard sheepishly returned her gaze.

“Yeah...?” His own voice was soft too, and _fuck,_ his heart ached as he looked at her. With her hair down and falling about her shoulders clad in her simple white nightgown, illuminated by gentle moonlight, Meyrin was the picture of angelic beauty. There was also something in the way she was looking at Bard, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “I’m sorry for shoutin’ at you, I just- “

“Did you mean what you said before?” she interrupted. Once again her voice was barely above a whisper, and this time it seemed to waver, almost like she had been holding her breath. Bard stared at her as if in disbelief that she would doubt it.

“’Course I did, Mey,” he replied quietly, a small smile spreading across his lips, “I’ve... felt that way for a while now.” There was no use in denying it, and above all, Bard just didn’t have it in him to lie to her. He could never lie to Meyrin. “But... listen, it’s fine if ya don’t feel the same, y’know? We can just- “

While he continued speaking, he had averted his eyes down to the floor – looking Meyrin straight in the eyes while talking about this was proving to be rather overwhelming. As a result, Bard did not see the way Meyrin’s expression softened, much less the way her cheeks became delicately flushed. He only had a split second to realise she was walking across the room towards him, and he didn’t get to finish his sentence. Before the words could come out, two gentle hands cupped his face, and Meyrin’s soft lips shyly pressed against his. For a second it was as if Bard’s brain had short-circuited, and it took him far too long to properly register what was happening. After all, he had only ever _dreamed_ of this. When it finally dawned on him that this was real, Meyrin was _kissing_ him, the chef was quick to react. Wrapping his arms around her and gently placing his strong hands on her back, heart pounding in his chest, Bard’s eyes fluttered shut as he kissed her slowly, savouring every moment, every little sensation. Their lips moved together perfectly, as if they had kissed countless times before tonight. Both of them were breathless by the time they finally pulled away, and Bard stared down at the smaller girl in awe, not quite comprehending that this was truly happening. A calloused hand trembled ever so slightly as he raised it to carefully cup Meyrin’s face, who seemed to instantly relax against it. Her lips twitched up into a warm smile, and Bard felt as if he was melting on the inside.

“I love you, you idiot,” Meyrin whispered. The words rendered Bard speechless, and all he could do was laugh shakily with a mixture of relief and pure dumbfounded happiness. Meyrin’s smile grew wider; the sound of him laughing was the sweetest music to her ears. Eyes full of adoration, Bard took a moment just to gaze down at the maid, like he was memorising every single detail of her face. Deciding that words were inadequate right now, the smiling blond closed the distance between them once more, tenderly kissing Meyrin the way he had done a thousand times in his dreams.


End file.
